A Night at the Coffee Shop
by TigerLily957
Summary: A simple conversation between two strangers, a night of serendipitous wonder. BBRae.
1. Chapter 1

This is an AU one-shot I decided to do. It's coming from a more personal place so excuse the little ramblings. I hope you enjoy. :)

Disclaimer - I do not own the Teen Titans.

* * *

He was once told by his old psychology professor that love was a series of feelings, states, and attitudes. Often his attitude toward love ranged from interpersonal affection to pleasure; though he couldn't quite fathom that this behavior was what love really represented.

He knew love meant an emotion of strong attraction and personal attachment. Though, he struggled with distinguishing the symbiosis between "love" states. The diversity of uses and meanings of love, combined with its complexity of involuntary feelings involved, made it extremely difficult for Garfield to define.

Studies in neuroscience have shown that when people fall in love, the brain releases a set of neurotransmitters and hormones. These include dopamine, serotonin, and noradrenaline. The side effects of falling in love include the following: increased heart rate, loss of appetite, fatigue, and intense excitement.

Research in neuroscience has also shown that a broken heart is a possible phenomenon. The process is still unknown, however a broken heart can lead to intense physical pain. This is believed to be due to a stress overstimulation of the vagus nerve; one that causes muscle tightening in the chest or nausea.

To diagnose the patient in simpler terms: Garfield Logan currently suffered from a broken heart because he fell in love.

To prescribe an antidote that would cure his broken heart: he grabbed a jacket, his keys, a wallet, his cellphone, and walked down the street in the pouring rain.

He wasn't sure how or why or when it occurred. He couldn't remember the time or date to fill out the necessary information for his tombstone, which would read:

_Here lies, Garfield Mark Logan, who passed Saturday evening from a broken heart._

He wasn't sure why he fell for her so quickly. It was somewhat like diving in cold water headfirst—seemed like a cool idea in the beginning, but injuries always conquered later. Terra's world moved too quick and burned too bright. She could mold her own path and twist and shape her feelings. One day, he could feel her head rested against his chest and feel her slender fingertips drum against his forearm. The next, he could scream and shout at her closed door how she's too "unpredictable" and "confusing". One day, she could gaze at the fireplace for hours and confide through dying flames that he was the best friend she ever had. The next, he could lay motionless on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in an empty room, wondering how she could slide through his fingers so easily.

The worst part is when they're gone.

The long talks, the sweet names, the heavy crying, the tender kisses, the laughter, the screams, the "you're making me pull my hair out because you're driving me insane", the "I need space because I _can't_ be around you right now", the "you're suffocating me", the first "I love you", the first "I hate you", the first time they're—gone.

The first time they've fallen in love with someone else and you could do nothing but watch.

He couldn't help but wonder why it happened that way. Why the universe was punishing him for some unexplained reason. Why someone that he was entirely devoted to suddenly stopped loving him. The real kicker of it all, was that she hadn't an entire clue of the pain and rejection that she put him through. The sleepless nights, the anger, the frustration, the wanting to beat the living daylights out of his pillows because he couldn't understand—why. He wasn't supposed to get hurt like this. Society as a whole, deemed him a man. Men weren't "_supposed_" to care after a breakup, they weren't "_supposed_" to get hurt like this. They weren't "_supposed_" to feel like every fibre of their being was being wrung out of them because someone they've fallen in love with, who suddenly stopped reciprocating, was loving someone else.

But men _did_. They felt, they hurt, they cried, they laughed, they were human _too_.

He could've gotten married to her. He was pretty old-fashioned, she wasn't. He could've spent everything in his bank account to assure she'd stay. He could've organized an entire banquet in her honor to let her know how much she was appreciated in his life.

But material things _don't_ bring back feelings.

Vic called it the 'break-up phase'. The, "No way am I letting you be a Debbie-downer. Knock it off, man!"

He dragged Gar to the nearest mood-brightening place he could think of: the pizza parlor. Between the four uneaten slices left on his friend's plate, Vic was beginning to grow worrisome.

"You know," Vic garbled between the food in his mouth. "I bought the pizza so you could eat it, not stare at it." Garfield shrugged. "Man, I'm just worried 'bout you. You've been all—mopey for a week. You've gotta just—"

Perhaps it was fear of hearing Vic explain that he needed to move on. Perhaps it was fear that Gar knew deep down inside she had always moved on. Perhaps it was the stuffy room or the bright lights, but Gar mentally and physically could not be there. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't eat, he couldn't. What he needed, she couldn't give him.

Answers.

Gar mumbled a quick apology, nearly tripped over a waitress when he squirmed to get out of his seat, and bee-lined for the door.

* * *

To self-loathe and roll into a ball wasn't typically Garfield's style. Neither was walking in the pouring rain—in the middle of night. It wasn't as if he were concerned with a lurking criminal or being pick pocketed of all his money, considering the crime rate in Jump City was fairly low. However, he couldn't help but mentally scold himself when he ran down the sidewalk, without an umbrella, as the rain deliberately poured on him. He grabbed the nearest handle he could find, and ended up entering a coffee shop after walking a few blocks.

The coffee shop was particularly full that evening. He looked around at the busy tables as he searched for a seat. An old couple seated across from one another, one cup of coffee each, studiously bent over the table while they spoke. A group of women in, what he assumed was their late twenties, collapsing with helpless giggles. One woman from the rambunctious group had silenced herself when he passed, but he kept his head low in avoidance of her hungry eyes. There were men in their suits lighting up cigars, and tourists trying to decipher the coffee menu. The noise level was high, the smoke level even higher. But it didn't bother Gar.

It was a coffee shop of mullioned windows, maroon-embroidered curtains, hardwood flooring, leather couches, dark chestnut coffee tables, dim lighting, and the delicate melody of a live piano. He let the cold rainwater slide down his back and melt away as the coffee shop's warmth nestled into him. The room wasn't extremely cold, for the fireplace soaked warmth into the thick old building, that it would take a month or two of winter to soak it out. Gar idly flipped through the menu when his waiter approached; each choice supposedly appealing, but in his condition he only wanted water.

He was served a tall glass of water, alongside a hot beverage, as the waiter claimed, "You look like you could use some tea right now."

His shaky fingers outlined the brim of the cup and he sighed. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes cast down in a mournful gaze. His booth was in the corner of shop, and his back pressed against the seat. Gar's hands shivered along the lined edges of the cracked table, lips quivering in a semi-pout.

The gloomy state of abandonment swallowed him whole. By dawn, she's pulled tight against his chest and her lips graze his slender neck. By dusk, he felt his reason for living slipping through his fingertips when she said goodbye. He lay his head gently on the hard surface on the tabletop, puffs of warm breath escaping his lips.

_Empty_.

Gar slowly raised his head, glancing around the coffee shop as waiters served tea in white teapots and coffee from silver trays. His eyes swiveled to the right, left, then back to the right; gaze falling on a more lovely sight that awaited him. Though he tried to turn away, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not out of infatuation, not out of spite, but he watched her in mere curiosity.

There, across from his booth, sat a petite woman dining alone.

Slender, pale fingers gripped tightly around an archaic book, turning her knuckles white. She wore a thin, hooded black jacket, a violet scarf, and dark denim jeans. The waiter plumped a tray of tea down onto the table and she glanced up over the top of her book to thank him. Her eyes, of an iridescent indigo, and strands of thin black hair cascaded down her shoulders. She swept wisps of unruly hair behind her ear, letting it caress the skin of her neck and jaw.

In the midst of her reading, she raised her head and unknowingly looked directly in Garfield's direction. He saw that her eyes were dull, vacant, and dead. Then, for a sudden moment, her pupils were drawn back and she saw him as if she was just noticing the young man for the first time. She surveyed the way his eyebrows raised a centimeter, lined with something between amusement and grief. His expression was neutral, with an inkling of wistfulness, and the soft glimmer of his lucid eyes betrayed any bit of happiness.

For a half second, they both sat there, assessing each other until she broke away and eyes cast down to her text. She engrossed herself in the book, almost in a trancelike state, removed from reality.

He wondered what it was like for the woman to ignore the world around her. Everything else was a blur, except her book. Then, he scoffed, lazily scratching the back of his ear.

That's what love was like.

Everything else was a blur, and only one person had been magnified. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered but Terra.

Gar's eyes found its way back to his cup. He took a sip of water, paid for his tea that he did not drink, left a suitable tip for his waiter, and decided to leave.

Hands dug deep into his coat pockets, he brushed past the busy tables to reach the exit. By the time he glanced back at the particular booth, she was already gone.

_Figures_.

* * *

Grief came to Gar in heavy waves and began to consume him. He was at his wits end and it left him feeling a pang of emptiness. Perhaps his eyes needed to be washed away by tears so that he could see life with a clear view. He stood underneath the coffee shop's awning before walking down the street. Water began to pour, cold and wet, on his skin.

The heavy rain was even sharper as he turned to the corner of the shop and city lights attempted to pierce into the blackness of the hour. As he walked, he could hear the rain beat against car roofs and sloppy sloshes of his feet through large puddles. Gar looked up seeing, through the curtain of water, dimmed lights of the sprawling city and silhouetted skyscrapers. On a much clearer night the view was breathtaking, but his only thought was to return to the warmth and comfort of his own apartment. Garfield sighed, mostly irritated that his home wasn't in the downtown district of Jump and it would be a forty minute walk to get to the suburban side. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to hear any angry voicemails from Vic when he got back.

The raw, heavy rain swept into his face as he strode down the sidewalk. A slow-cruising taxicab, pulled alongside the curb, but Garfield waved it away. He didn't have any extra funds on him to invest in taxi fare, just enough for a dollar bus ride a few blocks from the apartment.

He reached the indoor bus stop and sat, protected from the rain, on a bench covered by a small roof. Gar ran his hands down his face and sighed. His hands reached his hair and he shook his head back and forth like a wet dog, to dry off his hair.

His eyes widened upon hearing, "You're ruining my book."

Gar did not say anything—did not know what to say. His hands slowly lowered to his side and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. He wasn't peculiarly conscious of the same woman from the coffee shop sitting next to him, her arm near his. She read heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of cloud on her level. Her black hair lay wetly to her scalp as her clothes had also been drenched by the pouring rain. The soaked violet scarf wrapped around her neck dripped of cold rainwater. Why Gar should have had this thought of curling under a turtle shell and never coming out, he could not for the life of him say.

"Sorry."

She didn't respond, nor look in his direction, simply letting her eyes bore into the book in her hands. The old book was thick and heavy. The leather hissed delicately as she ran her fingernails over the gold bindings. She traced the cover idly before she flipped to the next page; thin paper rustled as she thumbed through text. Her eyes flit across the page and she quickly became immersed.

After indulging in over fifteen minutes of literature, she let the book fall closed. It made an exhausted sound, like a padded door and blew out a puff of air. The softness of the sound suggests a delicate overlap of thin, powdery pages. She gently pressed the back of her head against the bus stop's wall and closed her eyes.

The bus was late, and she was growing tiresome of waiting.

"This rain sucks," Gar murmured, wringing out the bottom of his pant leg. "I should've brought an umbrella."

She had forgotten for a minute that there was a man sitting beside her. His face was familiar, though she had seen many of them every day, it was vaguely difficult to pinpoint which one matched his. Then she remembered seeing him at the coffee shop before she left. Her nose had been stuffed in her books a majority of the time that she barely kept track of faces she seen. He had been sitting there for several minutes; she saw him as a pale blur to her right, registered the sudden shift of the bench as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

The corner of his lips pulled upward, and he let out a soft chuckle, resting the back of his head against the wall as well. "When I was little," his voice was soft and faint and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he attempted to drag the repressed memory to life. "I used to think the sky was crying when it rained. Kinda like this. My mom used to say, '_It's just rain, Gar_', but I liked to think that maybe—maybe—the sky was still crying. 'Cause, you know, at the time it seemed cool and all."

She turned her head, slightly, briefly, to look at him. He wore a black topcoat, a little too big for him, it flapped weightlessly under his arms. He had a mop of unruly blonde hair laying wildly in various directions. His eyes shone at her, blue with a hint of green, like ocean water. His hands, gloveless, hairless on the knuckles, rested on his lap.

"Technically, she was right." Gar quirked an eyebrow. "Rain is basically condensed moisture in the atmosphere, falling visibly in separate drops. It'd be nearly impossible for the sky to cry."

"Oh."

The woman shrugged, continuing to stare out at the wet pavement. "Common knowledge."

Being different wasn't a bad thing for her. It was the odd looks that came along with not following the typical social conduct. It had its pros, and definitely its cons. To be one's reclusive self, especially if that meant always standing on the outside, never engaging in a conversation, or simply being herself. That self could not join in with the rest. She sighed, deeming the end of the conversation. Only did her eyes break away from the rain and back at the man's fidgeting fingers when he continued to speak.

"You ever—" He took a deep breath, lips twitching at the corner of his mouth slightly. "You ever wonder if it's true?" His head hung low. "If something's—meant to be, it will? I'm not—you know—talking about job opportunities or whatever. I meant with people. If something's meant to be it will?"

Her fingers traced the thick lettering of the cover of her book, gaze falling on the soft calligraphy. "Serendipitous events are difficult to coincide between two individuals."

"So you're saying its a chance-y thing? It's not gonna happen?"

"I'm saying—" She paused, tongue twisted over her stumbled words. The corner of her eyes wrinkled as she thought of a proper explanation. "Perhaps it is possible for such an occurrence. Then again, what is a loss for one is another's gain."

"Cliché, dude," he snorted. "That's what everyone says. _If you love something, Gar, let_ _it go_. Yeah right." He puffed out his cheeks and blew a heavy sigh. The soft patters of rain drowned out their faint breathing. Gar held his head in his hands.

"She fell in love with someone else right in front of me," he whispered. The woman's back straightened up a bit; slight curiosity tugging at her with this new information.

He scoffed. "Boy, dodged a bullet there, huh? Phew." The joke did not register as a joke, portraying more a a mournful assurance. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. It's crazy, right? How—" Gar waved his hand around, searching for the right words. "Just crazy how, things change. Oh, and get this. That's—that's what she told me, you know, before she walked out and all?" He straightened up, clearing his voice to mimic his best Terra impersonation. "_Things change, Gar_. Things change?!"

He raised his voice a bit higher, his tone echoing off the low rumble of thunder. Though her face remained void of emotion, he could see the slight flinch in her eyes. Gar's shoulders slumped.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to yell like that," he murmured. "But, really? Things just _don't_ change overnight. Right?"

She shrugged. "People come, people go."

"This sucks."

He didn't get a single response. She tapped her fingernails across her book cover. The bus was never fast enough on stormy nights.

"And what kinda gain is that?" he added.

She was quiet, thinking, perhaps not even listening. She broke her gaze from her book and turned to him. "Then it is her loss, and a gain for another. To wallow in self pity or to grow from the experience is a choice _you_ must decide."

The rain was beating furiously. When it got really calm, sudden hail started falling fast. It hit the ground and bounced back.

Gar scuffed his feet against the ground and sighed. "Yeah. I—I guess you're right." There was a brief silence. The rain continued to patter against the pavement and they watched, casting uneasy glances at the slippery concrete. He turned his head to look at her. "Well, in case you didn't already know, I'm Gar."

"I'm not interested."

There was a slight curve of her lips, but as soon as it appeared for a split second, it left.

Gar chuckled. "Nice."

A heavy silence settled over them, thicker than the rain falling from the sky. Their unsettled eyes looked around and avoided catching one another's gazes that passed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hand gripped around her book. He grasped his sweaty, nervous hands atop his lap, and shuffled his feet against the cobbles of the concrete, awkwardly tracing the outlines of each crack.

"She's out there," he sighed. "Somewhere. I mean _you_," Gar jabbed a finger at her. "You even said it yourself. And you told me the sky wasn't crying! I mean, that's gotta be some real logic, plus you're right about everything else. Too late to give up now, I guess." His loud chuckle reverberated across the silent bus stop.

A look of satisfaction crossed her lips. There was a small curve at her mouth's corner and light raise of the eyebrow in slight amusement.

"Man," he wheezed, running his fingers through his hair. "It's crazy how things—"

"Change," she finished.

Gar nodded. His lips lifted upward, crinkling in a small dimple in his chin. He smiled a little; with a twist, like the smile of a man who was determined not to weep again. "Yeah."

The sound of crunching gravel startled him and his eyes flicked over to the white bus. It halted with a loud, metallic screech, and hissed when the doors swung open. Gar glanced over to the woman who began to tip her hood over her head. She nestled the book under her arm and slowly walked under the pouring rain to the bus.

He wasn't sure why, or how, or when his feet decided to spring him upward. He was unsteady for a moment before he rose and followed behind her. She glanced over her shoulder when she entered the bus and gently removed the hood from her head, jacket dripping wet. The bus began to rumble, as if preparing to leave.

He stood in front of the door, not knowing what to say or do, as they looked directly at one another. She cradled the book close to her chest, pressing her back against the bus wall. Before he could open his mouth, a bitter gust of wind blew, removing her thin scarf from around her neck. Her eyes widened when it unraveled and she dropped her book, rushing for the piece of fabric.

"My scarf—"

"I got it!" he called, jumping up to catch the runaway fabric. "I got it!"

As Gar snatched the scarf between his fingers, he stepped up to the vehicle and she moved closer with her hand held out.

"Here."

Before they could reach one another, the bus doors shut, preventing them from making contact. His hand slapped against the metal door and she pounded her fists against it from the other side.

She looked frightened, mortified. In fact, it was the most emotion she had expressed that entire night. Her hand pressed against the glass as the bus rolled away. Gar's hand pressed against it too; hers looking particularly small compared to his. Warm puffs of air fogged the window and she used her elbow to clean it off. He could see her lips mouth, "Wait", when the bus wheels moved.

He ran down the street to catch up with the large vehicle, despite nearly slipping multiple times on the wet concrete. Her hand slid down the window as it pulled away from the curb and her face pressed against the glass as they grew further apart.

It was too late.

He stood there in the middle of the street for a moment under the pouring rain, letting it soak into his clothes and drench his water-filled shoes. Drops of water trickled down his body as he remained frozen in place, his gaze fixated on the horizon where her bus had taken off. His eyes traveled to the wrinkled, and now drenched, violet scarf in his hand. Water dripped from the bridge of his nose as he stared down at it.

He slowly unraveled the scarf, a white tag with smeared black lettering sticking out. His eyes narrowed as he read it.

Perhaps in that moment, things _did_ change.

He stared at the beauty of the soft fabric, then turned on the ball of his heel and slowly walked away. Rain beat over his head and he tripped twice when sloshing through deep puddles. Gar glanced over his shoulder a final time, letting his gaze linger over the empty street; he stuffed the scarf in his pocket

_Serendipitous events are difficult to coincide between two individuals._

He read over the name again. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Raven."


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so maybe this kind of became a more-than-one chapter one-shot... _

* * *

She firmly believed that when the brain loses full recollection of a memory, it loves to seek.

Memory recall was emotionally state-dependent; to an extent, she'd insist. Studies in neuroscience have shown that individuals happen to retrieve information more easily when it has to do with the same emotional content as their emotional state. To retrieve a lost memory was a subsequent access of information from the past that had been stored in the brain. Commonly referred to in society as: remembering.

The pattern of neural activity during "remembering" slightly differs from the original event. For example, a memory may alter from the actual experience due to an act of reimagining when new memories are incorporated into old ones. Since there isn't a solid distinction of actual occurrences and what is imagined, a recounted memory is likely to change over time.

One of the astounding features regarding memory and the human brain was recognition. For simpler definition, recognition was the association of an event and/or object with a previous experience and encounter. It involved familiarity of a face, phrase, or perhaps a melody to a song, the scent of a rose from a past lover.

The name of a recognized person at a bus-stop.

It was odd.

She had waited at that particular bus-stop for years. Three, to be exact. Not once had she been approached, bothered, or engaged in a senseless conversation about serendipity. She never had to think about the possibility of serendipity; to be quite frank, it was an occurrence that typically played as a literary trope or some cliché ending in her favorite novels. But for some odd reason, she couldn't bring herself to stand at that particular bus-stop without an unsettling nerve overwhelm her. In which, Raven vehemently vowed to walk from now on—despite the weather, despite the long thirty minute walk to her apartment, and despite the painful aches in the sole of her heels. She didn't know why she chose to avoid the bus-stop at all costs and chose to take up Kori's carpooling offers.

Perhaps out of fear of serendipity, perhaps out of recognition, perhaps out of déjà vu.

Perhaps déjà entendu, the experience of feeling certain that one has already heard something—albeit the specific details are uncertain. Perhaps presque vu, the feeling of being on the brink of a great revelation when attempting to recall a memory, word, or name.

His name, more frequently, but her tongue couldn't seem to roll over the one-syllable. It was foreign and had an undeniably acidic taste in her mouth when she tried to drag the word from her repressed memory. For all she had known, the stranger probably lied about his name. Yet, it didn't matter anymore—it shouldn't have mattered. Strangers appeared and disappeared everyday; faceless, nameless, unrecognizable.

In plain sight, it was a frosty December evening, in which one would have a difficult time believing that the few months of autumn had flown by. Avenues, parks, and trees presented their shades of brown and gray; scarce a thin leaf had fallen from a barren tree or a virescent hue of grass intermingled with orange that had been leftover from autumn. The night sky was emptied of stars, hanging drearily with thick clouds and a silver tint glistened in the heavy dew. Jump City wore the stamp of winter quickly approaching, and the warm colors of the previous season had faded from the landscape.

A neon procession of red taillights snaked down the street. The silver, two-door car slowly cruised down the road, bumper to bumper with the minivan ahead of it. She ran her fingernails over gilded lettering and let the book fall open. An avalanche of powdery pages tumbled down the paper. Raven smoothed out the page, contracting a film of dust between her fingers, and leaned back in the passenger's seat. For a brief second, her eyes flit over to her friend before making its way back to the book in her hands. Kori gazed straight ahead, half-aware of the standstill of traffic outside the car.

"—and the food was delicious, Raven! Very delicious."

"Catered, wasn't it?"

Kori nodded. "There was an arrangement of the mustards and dipping sauces and—"

"If you smeared it all over your food, please spare me the grotesque details," Raven grimaced. "I fear I don't have the appropriate appetite to stomach your—vivid details."

"Very well. But oh, Raven, it was such a marvelous event," Kori sighed. She exhaled through her mouth, blowing away strands of stray bangs from her eyes. "All of Richard's friends attended."

"I bet—"

"You _do_ remember Wally? I believe he is single as of—"

"Mhm."

Raven's replies and gestures were empty. After a half-hearted nod and a mesh of incomprehensible words, she would indulge in her book without a second glance. She wouldn't move, wouldn't speak, wouldn't blink—from what Kori could tell. Due to her perfunctory responses, Raven removed herself from the uncomfortable conversation until the car ride to her apartment was over.

Kori cocked her head to the side, stealing a side-glance at her passenger. She had found it impossible to talk with Raven in the way she had expected to talk to her other friends. Every reply was carefully spoken, without a hint of emotion in it, which bored Kori to death. Raven was so out of sorts that through the years, she was strangely stimulated by her friend's presence and it seemed durable enough to let Kori do all the talking.

"Are you listening, friend? I do not wish to—"

"I'm listening," Raven insisted. Her eyes skimmed the backside of the page and she nodded. Though Kori smiled at Raven with a bit of sympathy, she was happy to have interrupted her in reading, philosophizing, poetizing, or whatever Raven had immersed herself in. "So—"

"My apologies, but—" Kori tapped her bottom lip with her forefinger. "I have forgotten where I have left off—"

"Wally is single. Richard has friends," Raven mumbled.

Kori's eyes widened. "_Oh_! Yes! Thank you, Raven."

"Mhm."

"Richard's friends. He has such eccentric friends."

"I'm sure he does."

Kori grinned. "I wish for you to meet them."

"That doesn't seem very likely," Raven murmured, delicately scratching the spine of her book. "I'm not as socially prone to new faces as you are."

"They are wonderful people."

"Mhm."

They passed through miles of traffic, at first talking lightly, but excitedly, as Kori mentioned more exuberant details of Richard's birthday gala. The silence that now shrouded the car was far more repugnant than Kori's description of her mustard-smothered food. It was thick and heavy, interlaced with the sound of honking horns and tires gently rolling across the asphalt. The fragment of broken thought, splinter of jumbled words, and drops of oozing silence shifted infinitesimally, and fell into a new pattern as Kori's car turned the corner.

Raven discovered there wasn't anything pleasant about silence that felt forced. She wasn't afraid of it, but it made her feel lonesome. For once, she wanted nothing more than to hear a sound, any sound, even the music on the radio. She lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder to look out the rear window. There was nothing behind them but the same gray view, gray sky, and dead silence. Kori was never still nor silent. The atmosphere always buzzed with a vibrant energy when she was around. However, when she vacated the conversation, Raven noticed something was missing.

Kori reached for her coffee, snugly placed in the front cup holder. Her lips curled around the brim of the cup as she sipped, leaving a painted pink streak of lipstick behind. Her expression was content, with an inkling of longing.

"It is interesting, Raven, is it not?" she finally spoke, rupturing the silence between the two women.

Raven arced an eyebrow. "What?"

"That I look at Richard as if I have—" Her fingernails dug into the steering wheel as she attempted to construct her sentence. "Missed him my whole life. That is odd, yes?"

"I suppose." Raven shrugged. "I don't have the exact answer on whether it is odd or not to feel a desire or longing of a person you have yet to fully know."

"Perhaps. I suppose that—" Kori paused, allowing a soft sigh to escape her lips. "It can be such a glorious and saddening feeling to long for him."

To _long_.

To miss what wasn't in your grasp. To hold onto something and know that it is your own until it slipped away. She had never longed for a stranger or someone she had barely known, which bemused her as to how quickly Kori had taken to Richard.

To find something or someone in which she felt she had missed her whole life, must have been extraordinarily and emotionally draining. The thought trundled through her mind and as Raven watched car taillights fade in the distance, she wondered if maybe that was something she would feel. To miss someone—someday.

But, like a good dream she wished to remember, it had disappeared without a trace. It couldn't recreate itself or a help her remember a name that was left lingering on the tip of her tongue.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Raven was fine with being lonely.

A majority of her childhood had been spent secluded from other children due to her reclusive nature. It wasn't like she loathed being lonely—it was all she knew. To her chagrin, Raven had been notoriously known for a meticulous lifestyle. It helped with the "lonely" façade.

Mornings were spent at the college taking up three classes, she'd walk to the bakery five minutes after twelve noon, pick up a muffin or two and a medium oolong, head to the bank for a balance inquiry on her checking and savings account, pay a couple bills (She was insistent on being a few months ahead of due time, therefore she was never late on a single payment. Bad credit would not tarnish her name now or ever.), finish her homework and check out a new book at the library, complete a eight hour shift at the office, head to the café to spend an hour drinking tea and catching up on her book, and finally catch the bus home. From there, she'd typically lounge around the apartment in cotton sweatpants and order take-out, as Raven refused to touch her stove. Cooking wasn't necessarily her forte. Perhaps crack open the book and indulge in several chapters, on a rare occasion would she turn on the television and channel surf, sometimes clean and fold her laundry, wash dishes, vacuum the carpet, and tuck herself into bed.

It was a quaint and quiet lifestyle. It was private and meticulously planned.

But it was lonely.

Ever since she was a kid, she had been infatuated with the idea of living alone. Raven supposed it was a romanticized fantasy she had picked up from playing "house" a little _too_ seriously when she was first given a custom dollhouse for her eighth birthday. She'd insist, she didn't have any major qualms about being lonely. Besides, the thought of socializing made her feel claustrophobic. In her short preliminary era of being alone, Raven noticed that this summation of independence in her fantasies completely exceeded her expectations.

However, the pleasures of being alone didn't necessarily mean that, at times, she _wasn't_ conveniently lonely. Mastering grocery shopping and cleaning schedules for one was a simple systematic itinerary. But on the other hand, eating alone sometimes wasn't all it shaped up to be. She believed in cohabitation—eventually, hopefully, later in life.

The interaction with her neighbors were the worst.

For example, an elevator ride with an attractive male could never become anything more than an imaginative potential romantic conquest. Hypothetically speaking, any attractive male had assumed the role of a visiting boyfriend, brother, best friend, or portion of the "available but unavailable" populace in the apartment building.

At first, the decision to share a space with Kori seemed like an alluring and easy choice. After a couple of mishaps during the first six months, Raven began to yearn for solitude. The first strike had been orange, crusty "tomato" sauce and burnt pasta all over the stove after Kori attempted to cook. The second had been waking up the next morning to Richard, clad in plaid boxers, in her kitchen drinking out of her favorite mug used solely for tea. The final strike had been Kori's squishy, sloth-like pet finishing the last of her leftovers. She wasn't even quite sure the thing Kori affectionately named "Silkie" was a dog.

To be quite frank, it was a living nightmare and the realization that she was fully prepared to separate from living with Kori came pretty quickly. Submerged in the three strikes, Kori's frustration with Raven's compulsively spotless cleaning ethos grew daily and Raven's passive aggressive attempts to not be annoyed by the living situation were becoming detrimental to their friendship. The ability to live in solitude instilled a bit of pride in Raven, yet the loneliness would seep in the late hours.

She had then decided, halfway finished with her Chinese take-out, that she'd be spontaneous. A visit to Macy's and pick up some clothes (Winter in Jump City was brutal, she needed more thick overcoats), a quick walk to the library, treat herself to some Earl Grey at the café, then go home.

Tonight, she'd be _spontaneous_—not lonely.

* * *

The library was an older Victorian, brick building sitting at the top of a hill. It was a twenty minute walk from her apartment, ten by bus, and five with Kori's daredevilry driving skills.

Raven pushed open the heavy swing door and wrapped the black scarf around her neck as she entered the library lobby. It was a large expanse of a room with a black-and-white tiled chessboard floor and at least forty bookshelves that branched out from the librarian's reception area. Eight or nine people were seated at tables, working vigorously on their respective works, some reading, some staring into space with headphones on. Dust collected in the library and loosely woven spider webs draped over books. The librarian, attired in a thick-knitted red sweater, nodded at her.

"Have a good night, dear."

"Likewise." Raven gave a polite nod back and made her way toward the exit.

Everything seemed more peaceful at night.

She, personally, enjoyed it more than the daytime. She figured it was why she blended in so easily at night than opposed to the bustle of the morning. There was a beauty in seeing things that were darker, more mysterious, and silhouetted that drew her from the protection of her home and outside. Though, she hated how far everything was when she didn't have a car. She hated how she could not bury her face in the comfort of her book, forcing her to stare ahead at the street and pedestrians in front of her.

However, Raven had to admit: she'd always secretly been oddly, unhealthily intrigued with the notion of strangers.

The ones, sitting idly, opposite to her at the bus-stop.

A light breeze caressed the fallen leaves on the ground and they whirled in the air. Raven stopped mid-thought to reach her hand up and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

That thought was a bit too personal.

Nevertheless, she was intrigued by strangers. Specifically the strangers that occupied the library, halfway finished with that book she had checked out but never got around to reading. She was intrigued by the young teenage girl that smiled when the teenage boy passed her by on the sidewalk and shot her a dimpled grin. Raven was intrigued by the waiter at the café whose eyes lingered on hers for a second too long as he handed her a cup of tea. He oozed of emotion she could never reciprocate, with a grin spread across his lips just wide enough to cause a tremble in her hands and deep blush painted on her cheeks.

She was intrigued by the elderly couple, arm-in-arm, exiting the furniture store. The way his lips brushed affectionately across the top of her head. How they would have met—as strangers.

She was pretty certain that at some point, a person will meet them: the infamous, disturbingly inconsiderate of time, and elusive soulmate.

It was an interesting topic. To know that this person, that she knew absolutely nothing about, could have possibly been walking this earth just like her. Perhaps asleep, perhaps at a soon-to-be ex's home, perhaps eating, perhaps laughing, perhaps sneezing, perhaps thinking of the same thing that one day they'd meet. She had taken the initiative to fill in these missing blanks, but wasn't that what Kori had referred to?

That—deep, empty, lonely hole cratered in your chest? That feeling that something is missing inside. Something should be there and the thought of one day finding something that fills that emptiness and loneliness would one day be in her arms. Could it be true?

To miss someone you have no prior knowledge of?

Is it humanly, mathematically, mentally, emotionally, ethically possible to fall in love with someone you don't even know yet?

Kori was right.

It was a saddening feeling. To miss someone you have yet to know and convince yourself that the emptiness is temporary. To convince yourself that it is ridiculous to fantasize about this idealistic person because real people, real soulmates, real love stories are flawed. Real soulmates are sometimes overlooked by false interpretations and people that appear to be "the one" and will only bring you pain, misery, heartbreak, and lifelessness. Real soulmates and real love don't happen the way we expect them to, they don't occur at the right moment, they don't come with an instruction manual or a factory to build your perfect lifetime partner.

It just happens.

And when it does—it'll feel right. Or so she was told.

In the amount of time it took her to reach the downtown portion of Jump City, she pieced together an intricate life together that this famously dubbed "soulmate" had.

For starters, his parents probably lived on a small farm in the country and he grew up wanting to be an animator but never had the right resources, so he settled for the city ten hours away. During this time, he ended up at a community college attempting to become a psychology major. He probably had a love for indie films and he quoted Sylvia Plath and Ralph Waldo Emerson religiously. He probably had a penchant for exotic bugs or loved foreign, endangered animals. He probably hated animals and had a passion for cars. He probably wanted to be a mechanic, or convince himself he wouldn't be a crooked politician when he ran for governor, or had a love for French cuisine. He probably had two younger brothers or grew up in a house with seven sisters. He probably had a girlfriend, a wife, children, he was probably a single parent, he was probably single, he probably wanted to settle down. He probably wanted to settle down with someone like her.

_Probably_.

Perhaps all of these fantasies about his life were all wrong. In reality, he could probably be a former delinquent, or had crooked teeth, or a large nose, or an annoying voice. But it didn't matter, she supposed. In that moment, he was everything she didn't know—and one day, he'd be someone she always wanted. As quickly as the thought arrived, it vanished, and the idea of a potential soulmate was sucked back into unfulfilled reality and disappointment.

She let out a defeated sigh, partially annoyed at the fact that she let herself get so immersed in a daydream. It was unlike her character to rely so heavily on daydreams of a significant other, but she couldn't help but feel human too. To wonder, to be curious, to dream.

It wouldn't happen anytime soon, though.

Her attempts to induce a proper conversation with a stranger failed to eventuate to anything more than awkward silence.

But she was like most that underestimated the significance of a small moment. The moment one locks eyes with another, or holds a door open, or gives a small nod, or says a polite, "Hello". A small moment that could possibly lead to something more. Every stranger had the potential to change one's direction and attention, if even for a day or eventual lifetime. The idea of a random person off the street that could hold such significance in one's life was incredibly exciting and terrifying.

Perhaps it was her casual determinism of rebelling against fate and engrossing herself in a book because she was afraid to meet someone that'd drag her out of her comfort zone. The fatalistic views of fateful and predetermined love was a frightening event; she'd do anything in her power to prevent it from occurring. Perhaps loneliness was a façade of her fear, perhaps her whole demeanor of not caring about emotions was a façade because Raven was truly afraid.

And that one night, that one—crazed stranger talking about his heartbreak and the way he looked and—and maybe she was overthinking the way he looked at her. She didn't know, but that was beside the point. Maybe she avoided bus-stops and cafés and looking at strangers and the minute their hands collided with the bus and prevented their hands from touching and—perhaps, just maybe, this—lovesick stranger made her feel afraid.

Afraid of falling in love like he had to feel the same exact pain he had. That was truly terrifying. She thought of things she had never thought of before. She felt sad, she could feel his pain, she was curious about it.

Was she so terrified by the prospect of missing out on serendipity and not feeling lonely that she grew obsessed with forcing herself out of fate's hand?

It was as comforting as it was painful. In that moment, her ability to shift her repressed affections onto a simple projection of a person: someone who was down on luck, someone who was curious about her as she was them, someone who couldn't break down her stoic walls, someone that she'd never see again.

That was the glory of it all.

But it was that small encounter that left her feeling empty. Like a mixture of paint washed and faded away by the rain, the memory of his name and the encounter was gone.

Because, perhaps, he didn't exist—and she overthought. And she needed to get home because it was freezing.

_So much for spontaneity_.

The barren trees lined the avenue and her breath rose in visible, small puffs; eventually intermingling with the cloudy night sky. The slight chill in the air gave a crunch underfoot to crisp leaves that she had stepped on, and a small film on frost decorated the cracks of the concrete. Her cheeks were rosy and she pulled her scarf over her chattering, blue lips. A frost seeped into her leather gloves and numbed her fingers to the point where they would not properly bend. Her eyes followed an illuminated sign, and she squinted when the bus appeared, slowly trundling down the icily slicked-down street. She stopped to stare at it as it parked in front of the bus-stop, clumps of wet snow flakes coating the top of her head. It hissed lowly, and leaned to the side to let passengers exit.

It was best to catch the last bus now before she would end up trekking it home.

Hands fumbling around her coat pocket for spare change, Raven watched her feet take steps across the street. Her black boots sunk into fresh snow, creating large tracks next to the pointed-toe shoes of the passing bus-riders. She was walking unusually slow, even for Raven's pace. Her body moved robotically, as if it burdened her to take a step. She unfolded the dollar bills and approached the sliding doors that lead to the bus. The last passenger had a way of walking that made him appear in a hurry. His strides were rapid and long as he stepped down the small stairs, eyes fixated on his cellphone screen.

"Excuse me."

"Mhm."

She moved aside to let him pass before feeding the money into the small machine. She then looked over her shoulder to watch the man cross the street and sighed.

Raven boarded the bus, gloved hands gripped around the yellow handrails as she made her way to the middle. Some passengers were sitting quietly and some had buried themselves in their books and cellphones. After a few seconds of analyzing the myriad of faces on the bus, she turned to her left when taking her seat, and caught a side-glance at one passenger that had been staring out the window.

The thought of snow, and how he didn't have the proper attire, barely formed in his mind before they were replaced with the fantasies of the places he'd travel. The gum in his mouth hardened and became laborious to chew before he spit it out and shoved it under the seat in front of him. He daydreamed about every place he'd eat, how warm the weather would be, and how it really sucked that he had to put his car in Vic's garage for another week. Growing bored with the view, he dug around his pants pocket before retrieving a pair of tangled earphones. His fingers began to weave through the contraption and for a brief second, he looked up, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

She sat motionless, listening to the low hisses of the bus as it pulled away from the curb and leant her head back. Her eyes remained downcast, observing every wrinkle and curve of her fingers.

Only did her gaze avert from across the bus, when a voice murmured, "Raven?"

It were as if her brain had been reprogrammed instantly when she turned around. All of her previous thoughts and memories had been deleted, everything in her mind had been replaced with the image of his face and the inquisitive sound of his voice. The corners of her mouth were pulled upward and she winced, briefly stunned by the pain caused by the slight cut on her chapped lips.

The word "serendipity" came from Serendip, or Sarandīp, the Persian name for Sri Lanka. Horace Walpole, an English art historian and Whig politician, coined the term after listening to a Persian fairy tale, _The Three Princes Of Serendip_. Serendipity, or the act of finding things that you aren't looking for, is the primary idea that movie scripts hinge upon. This happenstance, this chance to accidentally tumble into love, this opportunity to find a soulmate. It was as if the universe had conspired to hand her something that she didn't even know she was looking for.

And when the something was lost, serendipity quickly found.

Her lips upturned and she tilted her head to the side, forefinger pointed in his direction. "Um—"

"_Gar_."

It was as if an invincible force had knocked every wisp of air from her lungs.

That was how she currently felt; attempting to remember how to breathe, unable to speak because of the tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon or presque vu. She had been completely stunned as the name bounced around inside her skull.

His name was Gar.

She mouthed the word a bit, fumbling with its pronunciation, and how familiar it felt. He placed a hand to his chest and gave a small chuckle. "Remember?"

There was a brief pause. The passengers on bus grew entertained with his loud voice, casting uneasy glances at Raven. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, resting her folded hands over her lap.

"It was raining super hard. You took the 39 bus—I think, right? But uh—your scarf! Yeah! Your scarf—it—uh—yeah." Gar took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Your scarf had your name on the tag, that's—how I knew your name was—"

"Oh."

A heavy silence settled over the two as Gar reclined back in his seat, and fixated his attention on his feet. Raven's unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around, attempting to avoid catching gazes that passed her by. She cleared her throat and shifted a second time in her seat, lifting her eyes slowly to look at him. "I miss that scarf, by the way."

Her comment was unexpected and out of her norm, so far from what he knew of her. Gar stared at her wide-eyed, brain registering the fact that he was shocked by this bit of small talk. He closed his slack-jawed mouth, then looked at his shoes before glancing up to catch her gaze.

"Oh, dude, I bet. You can totally have it back," he chuckled. "I tried to—" His hands began to twitch as he strung his sentence together. "I—I tried to give it back but—you know—you—and there's probably tons of 'Ravens' around here—not—not the birds. I meant—like—your name and—you know—I'm not gonna _stalk_ you to give it back. Oh, dude, that sounds so awkward and creepy," he scolded, thumping his knuckles against his forehead. She quirked an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the left.

Gar's frazzled nerves jumped all together, and in different directions. He felt frayed with building anxiety as he constructed elaborate sentences and pieced his thoughts together. But even then, the nagging voice in the back of his mind spoke of nothing but doom ahead and how the uncontrollable flow of words spilled out of his mouth. "I sound like a weirdo. Yep, totally sounding like a weirdo," he mumbled, running his hand down his face. "I meant—you know—you, um—"

"I apologize, but I don't understand your rambling—"

"Neither do I," he admitted.

"Oh."

"Yep," Gar drawled, letting the 'p' at the end of the word linger a second too long. He tapped his fingers against the railing and she shuffled her feet across the floor, idly tracing small triangles. All the while, judging whispers swirled in the air around the small confinement of the bus where the spectators sat a bit more upright.

"I think that was some pretty cool advice you gave me that day. It—uh—" He scratched the back of his ear and released a deep breath. "It really helped me out."

Raven narrowed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him. "Pardon?"

"Oh, um, the—" His fingers curled into air quotes. "Serendipitous events are difficult to—blah blah—something—I forgot the rest, it was like—I think it went like—serendipitous events are—um—"

"Are difficult to coincide," she finished.

"Between individuals." He snapped his fingers and grinned. "_Right_! There you go. Boy, I was off a few words. Yeah, yeah that sounds about right."

Raven gave a slight nod. "I do remember and you are welcome."

"Yeah." Gar's lips lifted upward, one dimple on his right side caved in. His grin grew wider. "Thanks."

It was something different inside. To describe what was lost and suddenly found was difficult. It was a tenacious, profound, and it was a lingering type of emotion that a single word could not encompass. Perhaps it was an odd sense of déjà vu, as if the moment in time had already taken place, perhaps a long time ago, perhaps in a different setting.

The truth is, this sense of finding what was lost varies from person to person. It isn't a clear path, it isn't advertised on a neon sign, it isn't even obvious. It isn't obvious enough for the stray tresses of hair to be neatly tucked behind her ear and a shift of gaze from his face to her fingertips or the slow burning blush spreading across her cheeks. Perhaps it isn't obvious enough by the bravery of his spoken words or the way his eyes lingered on the woman seated across from him to his tangled earphones before he gently put them into his ears and let the music carry his thoughts elsewhere. He gazed out the window—wondering, hoping, wishing, perhaps thanking time for its inconvenience. Maybe, just maybe, it isn't obvious by the quick stolen glances she'd give over her shoulder or his quick eye-contact travel from the window to her face. Unspoken words, unheard thoughts. Often this sense of newfound disposition resulted in a feeling of comfort, and strangely enough, a familiarity that he had yet to know.

For once, right from the moment he sat down on that bench that one night, he knew that he had to love Terra as much as he could. He couldn't stop loving her, with every stupid fight they had, or the way she'd rip apart his godawful wrapping-paper on Christmas, or lazy Sunday afternoon where she'd lounge in bed all day, every curve of her body and arch of her back, every time her name rolled like honey off her tongue, every piece of furniture she'd toss at him during an angry argument, every time she'd break down and slide down against the back of the wall holding her head in her hands because she couldn't be what he needed her to be, every time he'd convince her it'd work, every pang of jealousy he felt when she looked at the man she fell in love with, every make up, every crazy breakup, every day he'd wake up and realized that she wasn't ever coming back this time. He carried that lesson with him. He carried that lesson with him even when this complete stranger happened to be right there in front of him, again. The interesting thing about strangers is that he never knew what kind of impact they'd have on his life. They could be good, bad, short-term, long-term, romantic, or platonic. Even then, it could be called the worst of times, and all he do was smile to himself and possibly thank every single God or person higher up or random stranger in the universe or heaven, hell, earth, every limbo in between that he saw this girl on the bus.

And all he had to do was have the guts to stand up, walk over to her, tap her on the shoulder, and speak.

He didn't know her history, and she didn't know his.

He didn't know if this—interest would lead into a friendship. He didn't know if this said friendship would last the hurtles of time.

He didn't know that, one day, perhaps twenty years from now he'd recall that brief conversation with this stranger that changed the way he viewed how serendipitous events worked.

Some people—they just—_get_ him. His odd way of thinking, his understanding of pain, his basic and fundamental nonverbal understanding.

Mercifully, at that point, the bus pulled into the station, they retrieved their respective belongings, and beat a hasty retreat. But as Raven stepped off the bus platform and Gar lazily dragged his feet down the sidewalk, he glanced over his shoulder and called out that if she ever needed her scarf returned, she should look him up for a cup of coffee. She could find him most weeknights in the plaza at the local pizza parlor with his friends, though he preferably liked the jazz ensemble performances at the coffee shop on Wednesdays.

Then he continued on his way, and she hadn't seen him ever again.

But as lonely and comforting as it was for Raven to stay at home and eat take-out and read the following week, she was mildly curious about being spontaneous. Lonely wasn't as entertaining without a bit of company.

Dropping into the seat across from the stunned young man, she folded her arms over her chest and stated, "I want my scarf back."

And it all started with the simple, kind act of a stranger sharing a cup of freshly brewed joe (and one cup of organic spring jasmine) at a coffee shop on a Wednesday evening.

Sometimes, we use a majority of our time waiting and searching for someone to fill that void. Much of our time, loneliness, and pain wasted on a journey for someone to appear. We often forget how much admiration we already have inside of us that is waiting to be released. _Maybe_ she didn't have to be afraid after all.

And for once in Raven's life, it felt—right.


End file.
